Chapter Text
Harry lay face down, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not even perfectly sure that he was there himself.
A long time later—or maybe no time at all—it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore, he had a sense of touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too.
Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry Potter became conscious that he was naked. Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would also be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes.
He lay in a bright mist, though it was not like any mist he had ever experienced. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapor; rather, the cloudy vapor had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white—neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be.
He sat up. His body appeared unscathed. He touched his face. He was not wearing glasses anymore.
There were scattered voices around him, entrenched in conversation.
“It is only natural that a young man, passionate as they are, would do anything to save those he cares for, gentlemen, I implore you to consider what you may have done as youths.” came a familiar, whimsical voice, only to be answered by a cruel, raspy one. “I do not care for that family. What is one extinguished clan but a drop in the bucket? The boy had no right to do what he did, Dumbledore.”
The mist was solidifying now. Harry could see them. The vapor twisted into grand arches of blackened stone, torches that emitted bluish-green flames, and a gallery of faceless shadows murmuring in the periphery. He was in a courtroom, not unlike those in the Ministry of Magic. Before him stood three figures: Albus Dumbledore, a man with an aura of unrelenting fury and sallow skin, and another, tall and regal, with a beard flowing like silver silk.
“What is going on?” Harry cried, his voice echoing in the strange chamber.
“He has woken,” intoned the third man, his voice calm and measured.
Dumbledore began to speak, but the furious man interrupted.
“You insolent brat! What is going on is that you have put the entire world in jeopardy!” he snarled, his voice like nails scraping against stone.
“I only wanted to save the—” Harry began.
“Did it not occur to you, you fool,” the angry man spat, “that by stopping the Gaunt girl from using that love potion in the past, you erase all reason you would have to go back to the past? You created a paradox, brat.”
“Now, Herpo,” Dumbledore interjected, his tone patient, “having the maturity to foresee this turn of events is not something one can expect of a seventeen-year-old boy in distress. Harry cannot be blamed for wanting to save the Weasleys, especially considering that his discovery of the time-turner is entirely our fault. Is it not, Merlin?” He turned to the tall, regal man.
“I must confess that it was a great risk I took creating that time-turner,” Merlin said solemnly. “A risk that has caused us great inconvenience. I am the one you must direct your anger at, Herpo.”
“I cannot blame you,” Herpo snapped. “It is this boy’s idiot son who misused it, not you. You had to return time-turners to the world—they are ancient magic. Destroying them threw the world off balance.”
“I had to return them, but I did not have to merge them all into one—”
“My idiot son?” Harry interrupted. “I have a son?”
“A future problem,” Herpo replied curtly.
“Please,” Harry begged, “explain what is happening. A son?”
Dumbledore stepped forward, his gaze steady and kind. “You see, Harry, time-turners are ancient artifacts embedded in the fabric of reality itself. When you and your brave cohort destroyed them, reality was thrown off balance and began to unravel. That is when Merlin was pulled from his rest and tasked with restoring the time-turners.”
Merlin inclined his head gravely. “I had hoped to make them less likely to be misused. That is why, instead of crafting thousands of time-turners, I merged all their magical power into one especially strong device. It seemed a wise decision then—a higher individual risk but fewer overall risks. I see now that my reasoning was flawed.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore continued. “The time-turner Merlin created found its way into the hands of your son, Harry. He went farther back in time than anyone ever has, once again ripping apart the fabric of reality. This council was formed to correct the damage. Unfortunately, your son left the time-turner for you, and you, in turn, used it.”
“I’m so sorry, Professor,” Harry said, his voice breaking. “When Dolohov… blew up Ginny, Ron, and… and everyone else, I couldn’t handle it. I thought I could fix everything. I went back to kill Voldemort… but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill a newborn.” His voice cracked as tears filled his eyes.
“I am proud of you for that, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “But when you failed to kill Tom Riddle, you went even further back to prevent Merope Gaunt from conceiving him. That act created a paradox. I’m terribly sorry, but you must face the consequences.”
“What am I to do?” Harry asked, his voice trembling.
“Well,” Merlin spoke with a measured tone, “we have tried several courses of action so far. Sending your friend Ronald Weasley back in time to steal Dumbledore’s identity almost worked, but the outcome of that timeline fell short of what our superiors desire. I have concocted several alternative plans that have potential. We will have you try the one I suspect you will be most at peace with. If you fail, you will have endless chances to fix your mistakes—but the cost will grow heavier each time.”
“I understand, sir. I will not fail. What must I do?”
“You will have three objectives,” Merlin clarified. “First, you must ensure that James Potter and Lily Evans have a child—that you are born. Then, you must make sure that the younger you does not obtain the supreme time-turner left in the Forbidden Forest on May 2, 1998, by Albus Potter. Secure that time-turner. Once you have it, keep it safe and pass it to someone who can guard it until your younger self receives it on his deathbed. This will close the loop and prevent a paradox.”
“I think I understand,” Harry said. “But you still haven’t told me—what time am I going back to?”
“You will attend Hogwarts once more, Harry,” Merlin said. “You will be in the same school year as your parents. This will allow you to ensure they come together, no matter what changes your presence causes.”
“I’m allowed to make changes?”
“So long as you ensure your younger counterpart does not create a time paradox, you are free to alter events as you see fit,” Merlin replied.
“I can stop Voldemort?”
“You may do as you wish,” Merlin said simply. “This council is concerned only with correcting the paradoxes caused by you and Albus Severus Potter.”
“Speaking of which,” Herpo interrupted, his tone impatient, “it is time we consult with the junior brat. Give this boy the ring and send him on his way.”
“Wait!” Harry protested. “I still have so many questions!”
“Don’t worry, Harry,” Dumbledore reassured him, stepping closer. “This ring is enchanted with all three of our personalities.” He handed Harry a regal-looking silver ring with green runes spanning its diameter and a large P carved into the square green gem at its center.
Harry slipped the ring onto his finger. The courtroom dissolved into mist once more.
“Goodbye for now, Harry,” Dumbledore said solemnly.
The mist enveloped him entirely. “Goodbye, Professor,” Harry replied as the world went dark.
“Whoa! Is that my father?” exclaimed a voice in the darkness, only to be silenced as water filled Harry’s lungs.